A Cup of Tea in a Soldier's Hand
by HogwartsAsWeKnowIt
Summary: Being in a relationship with Mr. Famous Captain America isn't easy; Peggy Carter's granddaughter is learning this rather quickly. But somehow the two escape to their own world of carefree bliss, something only love can create. How can Steve resist the spitting image of his long lost love, especially when Kris Taylor's falling for him as well? -kinda during/after Thor 2-
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

_Welcome! :3 I'm really excited for this story, after having so much success with my Harry Potter/Avengers X-over, Outlawed. Some of these characters are represented by people I know, and therefore I'm planning to put a lot of heart into this fanfiction. I really hope you enjoy, and if you'd like me to continue, please comment/follow/favorite! Feel free to PM me anytime with questions you may have or if you'd just like to chat. Hope you enjoy!_

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_**In a New York City apartment...**_

With gleaming sunlight leaking through the window shades and an alarm clock stubbornly beeping, it was no surprise Steve Rogers was fully awake in a matter of seconds. The cool, slick sheets wrapped around his body were the perfect temperature, and begging him to stay just five minutes longer. But it is commonly known that once you give into that satisfaction of ignoring the alarm clock and instead cuddle contently in the softness of bed, there is absolutely no possible way to rouse one's self. Steve knew this almost better than anyone, waking up at five each morning due to the habits of an Army life embedded into his mind. Judging by how tangled the covers were around his body, Steve realized it had been another restless night of combat nightmares that belonged better in a horror movie than the Captain's brain. The digital clock, now showing 5:02 was persistent in its noise (_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP_!) and Steve ended up hitting the button with more force than was needed; the slap did its job though, ceasing the annoying sound. Steve sighed, the only sound in his tiny, bland bedroom.

Stepping out into the hall, his bare feet were chilled as they made the transition from carpet to wood. Abruptly, the hall transformed into the sitting room, which was simple and plain, containing only the necessities: a sofa, center table, a small TV, and a VC/DVD player. Scattered on the table was an assortment of books, videotapes, outdated newspapers, and a couple remotes. As he passed, Steve picked up the remote and successfully pressed On/Off, causing the TV to revive and blare the News Channel. Frantically turning down the volume, Steve winced at the thought of his neighbors sleeping around him in the condominium.

With a yawn he entered the kitchen, switching the coffee machine to life and pulling the multigrain bread from a almost-barren cabinet. Like the sitting room, the kitchen contained only what was needed. He owned a compact fridge that was pretty much vacant (as were the cupboards), a modern toaster, microwave, stove, and coffee maker. A few yards away from the cooking island, which contained the stove, was his eating table, also filled with a vast array of documents. As he waited for the toast and coffee, his focus returned to the news, which could easily be seen from almost any angle of the kitchen. It was the usual crap: a few homicides, a missing person, a shooting downtown, some famous person's birthday, etc. The commercials started, and he muted the screen. Steve then leaned against the counter, the tile freezing his elbows as he stood in his T-shirt, grey sweatpants, and disheveled blonde hair.

_DING!_

The toaster alerted the super soldier that his toast was ready and Steve sloppily applied margarine and apricot jam. Pouring coffee, Steve cursed as he turned the pot too soon, spilling all over the freshly cleaned tile. A single paper towel did its job though, and the Captain wadded it up into a ball, making a spectacular shot across the room into the trash bin.

"A three-pointer by Rogers," he muttered in a dramatic announcer voice.

With a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, and a sizzling piece of toast in the other, Steve flopped onto the couch and continued to be bored by the news. He sat there for a while, slowly chewing with his feet up on the table. Still hungry after his feeble breakfast, Steve began to get up to make more. However, as he was standing, a file on the table caught his observant eye. Peggy's Army file was gently picked up by his rough hands. The small picture of her stunning face was enough to stab the Captain's heart with a pain more intense than any physical weapon could produce.

With a sigh that rattled from the bottom of his heart, Steve sat back down, deep in thought. He gazed out the window, watching the sun rise against the skyline of New York, with its buildings scraping the sky. His eyes wondered beyond that, to the address he had memorized from Peggy's file.

Maybe, across the Atlantic Ocean and through time, Peggy Carter was thinking of him and staring out her window at 57-J Merryweather, of Winchester.

Something was holding him back from visiting his true love. It wasn't fear; it _couldn't _be fear. He was Captain America, the brave soldier who never backed-down from a fight. But he couldn't help but realizing, deep in his scarred heart, it _was_ fear. True, genuine horror. He remembered Peggy as a life-full, better-than-perfect dame. Her blissful smile, a kiss full of red lipstick... These memories were engraved into his heart by a double-edged sword, and it continued to bleed. Why were they so painful?

Maybe it was because it was just another part of his life that could never be returned. As his hand contracted into a fist, his skin turned white as it stretched over his knuckles.

_Why me?_

_**In downtown London...**_

Kris Taylor sang around the kitchen in a pair of ripped jeans, an AC/DC T-shirt, and Converse. Her lengthy auburn hair flowed around, the drastic layers dip-dyed blonde. The clock read 10:03, but she didn't care, seeing as she was already twenty minutes late for work; she barely managed to hold a job at the Starbucks on City Road. She was pouring a cup of tea when her iPhone 5 decided to join in on the noise. Turning down the radio, she checked her lockscreen to see who it was. "Mom," it read. She dismissed it. A never-ending talk with her mother and a lecture about how she was living her life was not something she needed at the moment. The radio was returned to its original volume, and she continued to join OneRepublic in the chorus of "Counting Stars". After grabbing an apple, her phone, and a leather jacket, she was out the door and into her Prius.

She'd regret not taking that call.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

_Please ignore any spelling errors! I was typing fast :)_

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**_London..._**

"You're late," Molly whispered to Kris as she stepped into the back door of the Starbucks. An aroma of coffee, hot chocolate, and spices filled her lungs in a matter of second. The warmth produced by the heaters and various ovens/machines heated up her freezing body after she had just escaped the 48 degrees (fahrenheit) blowing outside. A motorized chatter could be heard from the dining area, from costumers who had also made a getaway from the bitter frost.

"Please tell me you're not surprised," Kris pulled on her apron with the infamous logo of the green mermaid printed in it.

"No, I'm not. But just because I'm your only friend, doesn't mean I can completely ignore my job as manager."

"You're not my only friend."

"Really? Who else do you have asides me and your iTunes?"

"My...cat."

Molly sighed, her long red ponytail falling off her shoulder. "Get to work."

Silencing her phone, Kris ignored its message: "_Mom - missed call and voicemail_". Stuffing it deep into her jean pocket, she intended to ignore it for the duration of the day. With a fake smile plastered to her face, Kris relieved a colleage of the front desk.

"Welcome to Starbucks, how may I help you?"

_**New York City...**_

The blows fell hard onto the punching bag; it shook violently as the soldier's wrapped hands acted as an output for Steve's anger. Peggy was burning the Captain's mind again. With each slam, that could of easily shattered the average man's skull, his heart and mind were arguing.

_Visit her._

_Don't visit her._

_Yes visit._

_No visit._

_Yes._

_No._

_Yes._

_No._

_Y-_

Flying across the room, the bag escaped its chain. He had ended on yes.

Sweat dripped down off his chin, his eyes closed, breath heavy, and his hands stinging. It was time to pack some bags.

**_In New York (still), back to the apartment, about an hour later (traffic had been bad)..._**

Running his fingers through his sweaty hair, Steve sighed, not knowing what to pack. Of course, he didn't have much to pack at all; he had thrown the few shirts and slacks that he owned and an extra pair of shoes. He would wear his jacket. The main problem that had crossed his mind was getting his shield pass security.

An idea struck him abruptly and his eyes widened. Why go commercial when you were friends/colleages with the richest man on earth?

Exiting his bedroom, he briskly made his way to the kitchen. He used his favorite method of crossing the living room: walking across the overflowing table. Although it creaked under his weight, he wasn't concerned; it had survived worse.

He reached the phone, and was rather proud of himself when he had dialed correctly and heard ringing from the speaker. Even though it had been about a year and a half since his dramatic life change from the 1940s to the 21st century, Steve still found it weird to not have operators on the line. And mobile phones? It was definately an idea that never would of crossed the brilliant mind of Alexander Graham Bell; what he would of gived to see modern technology! Steve gave a half-hearted grin to realize that he had achieved that dream. But he had given away a lot to be in this era; most of the time he wished he was still back in his World War 2 days.

Since his mind had traveled so far, he jumped a little when a voice picked up a phone. He had called Tony's private number, something he had learned during his work as an Avenger and his time spent with S.H.I.E.L.D. However, it was Pepper Pott's preppy voice that replied.

"Hello, Stark Industries."

"Hmph. Tony can't even pick up his own phone anymore?"

"I'm sorry, but who is this?"

Steve sighed and an annoyed expression fell on his face. "Steve Rogers, ma'am. Captain America, Avengers..."

"Oh yes! Yes, yes, yes!"

"Any chance I can talk to Stark?"

"Yeah sure. We're actually in New York right now - are you far from the tower?"

"Not painfully far, no."

"I'll set up an appointment for an hour from now if you want. Tony's just...being an ass locked up in the top floor. Which isn't new of course."

"Definately not new. I just wanted to ask him a simple enough favor. I think it may be better to ask you actually."

"Yes?"

"Do you have any flights going to England soon? It's just flying commercial... I think I'd be kicked out halfway through security."

Pepper giggled. "Why do you think we have our private planes? Tony would be kicked out at the front doors!"

"With all the publicity after New Y- ya know, I don't think I'd make it into the doors either."

"Well, we're a little bit more used to it."

"Ah, yes. But anyways, back to topic here: do you have a flight?"

"What city?"

"Closest airport to Winchester."

"Let's see... Lemme just get to the right page here... Ah here we are! Oh! I'll be flying to London on Friday this week. Can you wait three days?"

"Certainly. Will Stark be coming?"

"Should he be coming? Probably. But I doubt he'll make it. You know how he is."

"I myself have seen him changed. I don't know him near as well as you do though."

"Haha! No, you do not. And I can almost garentee his absense during this conference."

"That's fine. I kinda just wanted to talk to him 'bout the trouble he stirred up. With the Mandarin and all. I don't really trust the media; it doesn't take long to realize it's completely overrated. Thought it best to hear it from his own mouth."

"Mm. That did wake up the reporters, didn't it? Well, I'll talk to him, though I doubt it'll make much a difference. He's a little hard-headed."

"I'm rather aware."

"I'm getting another call. Should I put you on hold?"

"Oh, no. It's fine. I'll see you Friday. Oh wait! Meet you at the tower..?"

"Sure. Seven in the morning too early?"

"Definately not. Bye Pepper."

"Have a nice day, uhh, Captain."

Steve smiled as he hung up.

_**Across the Atlantic** **Ocean...**_

"Take a lunch break, Kris," Molly tapped her friend's shoulder as she passed by.

"Roger that," Kris smiled as a 'thanks'.

She made herself a vanilla latte before leaving, stuffing some cash into the register for payment; she didn't bother to grab change. There were enough coins scattered around her poor car already.

Leaving the warm, homey feel of the coffee shop, she stepped into the light blue Prius, wishing she could of heated up the leather seats and atmosphere first, before she had entered. Roaring to life, the cold engine frantically worked to gain heat. Cold air began to blast out the fans and Kris automatically turned the AC off. She'd have to wait a bit.

Cuddling with herself and trying to cover as much area of herself as she could with her jacket, Kris pulled out her phone with the voicemail from several hours ago.

_Might as well listen to it_, she thought, entering into the Phone app and tapping play. Her mother's voice was a shaky mess; Kris knew from experience that this was what he mother sounded like when crying. Turning up the volume, she strained her ears to make out the words in between the heavy breathing and sobs.

"K-Kristin - it's your grandma - she passed away t-this morning. J-Just come stop by her house a-after work. I'll be he-here."

Kris's heart was stabbed, her throat began to close, and tears stung her eyes. Grandma Peggy. Gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

_I love writing with Tony and Pepper, so I incorporated them a lot in this chapter. Please review if you've been enjoying! :) Please ignore spelling/grammar errors. I type fast with not a lot of time for editing._

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**_New York City..._**

Pouring down the windows in creeping brooks, the rain engulfed New York City. Steve sat awkwardly in the backseat of the yellow cab, with his leather bag sitting beside him. Eyeing him in the rearview mirror, the cabbie was obviously considering the fact that Captain America was his current customer.

"Stark Tower right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you, uh, the guy with the shield? I mean it's not my business or nuttin'..."

Laughing, Steve replied, "Yes. I guess you could say that." He shifted his weight, covering up more of the backpack in between his legs; it had conformed to an awkward shape, seeing as it carried his vibranium weapon.

"So you're one of those superheroes that fought those aliens down to First Street?"

"Yes."

"Wow! So you're vistin' Stark Tower to see Tony Stark himself?"

"Technically I-"

"Are you on first name basis with the big man?"

"Uh, well, not exactly...in a way I guess," Steve muttered. More like he calls me Capsicle and I call him Stark.

"The name's Daniel Phillips. And I know damn well who you are: Steve Rogers, Captain America!"

"Pleasure," Steve responded. He was used to publicity from his time of touring as a show monkey. After the Battle of New York, he was having to get used to this again. To be truthful, he didn't mind it much either.

Although his face was glowing with a grin etched on his features, the taxi man decided he had spoke enough.

Continuing to fall down heavily, the downpour set Steve's mood for the remaining duration. His fear of reuniting with Peggy was returning. His heart was shattering with each question his mind decided to ask himself. _Would she be angry? Does she still love him? What'll she be like?_

Would she remember him?

With a deep breath, Steve hardened his scarred heart. _No. No. No. _He couldn't afford to think that way.

The cab slowed to a stop, pulling up to the curb of the intimidating Stark Tower. Its many floors climbed the sky; it was still under restoration after the Battle of New York. The single "A" that was once "STARK" was lit up, reminding the Captain of what the 'Avengers' logo had become.

"That'll be $10.50," the cabbie stated.

Pulling out his wallet, Steve handed him a $20. "If you keep quiet and don't tell anyone who brought me here, you can keep the change."

"Sure thing!" his eyes shined; Steve smiled.

With his backpack over his shoulder and bag in hand, Steve entered the lobby and strode over to the front desk.

"I have an appointment with Miss Potts."

"Name?" the secretary lazily glanced up.

"Rogers. It's under Rogers."

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, Miss Katheryn?"

"Is Miss Potts ready for her 7 o'clock?"

"I shall check." A few seconds of hesitation... "Yes, ma'am. You may send up Mr. Rogers to the 80th floor."

"Elevator's to the right," Katheryn pointed then resumed her paperwork.

"Thanks," the soldier entered the empty elevator. The 80th button was already pressed by Jarvis. Surprisingly, nobody entered on his silent journey to the top.

_DING!_

The steel doors opened, and Steve walked into a simple yet elegant room of tile, couches, and counters. Pepper sat curled in an armchair, wearing a white eyelet top and a tight pair of Miss-Me's. Her hair was in a beachy messy bun. She was gorgeous and stunning to every man she crossed; Tony was lucky to have her.

Speaking of Tony, he was in the couch opposite, engrossed in some touch-screen laptop looking thing. His hair was ruffled, and he was wearing a Rolling Stones sweatshirt.

"Welcome Steve!"

Pepper.

"Hey look! Its a walking American flag!"

Tony.

"I just have some paperwork to finish up and then we can leave. You're a little bit early as well. Tony is... not coming," Pepper glanced his way.

"Hmph?" Tony glanced up from his device.

"Are you coming?"

"To what?"

"The London conference."

"That's today?"

"Good lord," Pepper sighed and pinched her nose with her index finger and thumb.

"Uhhh it's definitely a possibility. What time?"

"We're leaving at seven."

"What time is it?"

"6:43."

"Not happening."

"Oh really? Is it that painful for you to get off your lazy ass, put some product in your hair and a suit on?"

"I'm not wearing a suit on a six hour flight. Period."

"Fine then. You can change after. And we can take the jet. Three hours."

"Why is 'it' here again?" Tony pointed to Steve.

"I need a flight into England."

"Why?"

Pepper threw the nearest item available, which just so happened to be the newspaper; it scattered all around him.

"Holy crap woman! I know its the morning and all but really?!"

"I'll get something else to throw at you then," Pepper hissed.

"I hadn't even of read the Sports Section yet!"

"Jarvis will obey me, and I will put on the suit and slap you."

"The suit? I thought you destroyed everything," Steve interjected.

"It's pretty much just experimental right now."

"Does S.H.I.E.L.D. know?"

"Hell no. And don't tell them either. I'm trying to keep it quiet," Tony scowled at his CEO.

"Oh gosh! It's already 6:55! We gotta go," Pepper hopped up, snapping her laptop shut. "Are you coming?"

"Can we go to Paris after?"

Pepper threw her hands up. "I don't even care anymore."

"Okay lets go. You comin' Uncle Sam?"

This was gonna be a long flight.

_**After boarding...**_

Steve was surprised by the service and extravagance of the jet. Tony had even hired some hot chicks as hostesses.

"You know," Tony held up a Corona and faced Steve. "I can make 'em pole dance."

"Uhhh, it's fine thanks," Steve nodded. Pepper held back the urge to burst out laughing.

"Do you know what pole dancing is?" Tony lowered his dark shades; his attire hadn't changed much since this morning except for the addition of sunglasses and Converse.

"Yes," Steve snapped.

"Are you sur-"

"Anthony Edward Stark!" Pepper threw a pen at the billionaire, even though she was suppressing giggles.

"Just askin'," Tony held up his hand.

Holding a book that he hadn't even of started, Steve was genuinely entertained by Pepper's and Tony's bickering.

"Where's the remote?" Tony questioned, as he stood, checking if he was sitting on it.

"Wherever you put it last."

"That's truly helpful Pepper, thanks."

Under the couch, Tony located the desired object; the flat screen was revived. _"Will HP be able to keep up with the 3D printers? Their stock isn't growing..." _the TV man's monologue droned on.

"3D printers? So far behind," Stark muttered, as he began to flip through channels. The Black Friday commercials had already begun to overtake the usual ads. "Speaking of Black Friday," Tony continued to browse, "What day is it?"

"November 21st."

"When's Thanksgiving this year?"

"The 28th."

"Are we doing anything for that?"

"It's up to you."

"Macy's Day Parade?"

"Possibility."

"Steve, do you have plans?"

The Captain glanced up from his reading. "No but, I'm not sure where I'll be."

"Well, give us a call if you want somewhere to go."

"Sure thing," Steve smiled. Tony shot a look at his CEO.

The TV talked on.

_**Somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean...**_

Since Tony had fallen asleep (beer still in his hand) and Pepper was deeply focused on her work, it was almost dead silent on the luxurious Stark Industries plane. All that could be heard was the omnipresent purr of the engine, the _click-clack-click-clack _of Pepper's laptop, and occasional crispy turn of a page.

Staring out his window, Steve couldn't help but realizing that every second, every mile, every breath he took, he was closer and closer to something he had dreaded and looked forward to for oh so long.

Peggy was waiting on the horizon of that endless blue sea, clouds splashed on like paint.


End file.
